


We will remember them

by DollhouseQueen



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: ANZAC Day, Gallipoli - Freeform, Gen, National Anthems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:18:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollhouseQueen/pseuds/DollhouseQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the hills above ANZAC cove, New Zealand sings for the men lost ninety-six years before. A Tribute for ANZAC day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We will remember them

**Author's Note:**

> We will remember them.  
> Summary: On the hills above ANZAC cove, New Zealand sings for the men lost ninety-six years before. Tribute for ANZAC day.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis powers, ANZAC day, the Gallipoli campaign, the national anthems of Australia, the UK, Turkey or New Zealand, nor do I own the speech by Ataturk, or the Ode to the Fallen.

________________________________________  
There is coolness in the pre-dawn air that is more than familiar to her. She looks out at the Aegean Sea, still visible from her place up on the hills. It was still, peaceful. Down on the beach, where the sea met the Turkish coast, hundreds upon thousands of people had gathered for the dawn service. She could feel her citizens there, both young and old. Turkey and Australia were down there too, somewhere. She'll meet them later. Her shoes scuff at the dusty ground, and her shoulder brushes against one of the scraggy bushes. She doesn't care, even though it means her dress uniform is getting dirty. There is something sacred about this place, this land that is still stained with her soldiers’ blood.

With _her_ blood.  
There are medals pinned to her chest, and their weight is a small comfort. They are her most treasured ones; the New Zealand cross, the Victoria cross, the pacific star, the Gallipoli ones she, personally, had got for her own effort. The one's she'd earned. She'd told the people she'd come with that they were her father’s, her grandfather’s, her great-grandfather’s, but she can still remember England pining them to her chest with a sad sort of smile. The only family she has are other nations, the empire, and the commonwealth. The reluctant dominion, fighting for her empire just as passionately as she had fought against him scarcely a century before. Victoria's scarf is wrapped carefully around her neck, to ward off the early morning chills. A century ago, the dying queen had wrapped it around her neck with a pat on her cheek and thanks for her soldiers’ bravery in South Africa. Now, she wears it to honor all fallen soldiers on one day each year.

She almost trips, and stares at what her foot had caught. Her eyesight is far better than a human – something she once considered a blessing - and she is able to clearly pick out details from the darkness cloaking this old battlefield. She knows what this is. A large lump of rusted metal.

Shrapnel.

Her lips turn up unwillingly, even as her eyes fill with tears. How many men did she loose to Turkish shells? Too many.

A little way along, she finds what she was looking for. The trench is still obvious - it’s not overgrown or collapsed in any way. She's almost certain that this was one of theirs, an ANZAC trench. But she's not sure - she's forgotten which ridges they'd occupied.

A cloud of dust picks up around her feet as she lands in the trench. It is over two metres tall, and three metres wide. She sniffs. For eight months, she lived in these trenches, fighting a war that she barely understood.  
She can remember what it was like, fighting in the trenches of the Eastern front. The smell of rotting corpses still haunts her, and she can smell it still as she stands on the battlefield ninety-six years on. She closes her eyes, remembering the life she had led here. She can remember the constant rattling of machine gun-fire, the explosions from Turkish shells and the curses from her men as they rushed to retaliate. Her rifle would be leaning against the trench wall behind her, and Australia would be sitting nearby - if he wasn't off with his own troops on a different ridge, or gambling in one of the tunnels. England had never liked that.

She can remember what it was like to feel her insides being eaten away by disease, knowing that, unlike her soldiers, she couldn't die from it, that there was no peace in death. Not for her. She remembers talking with her men, joking. She remembers wishing so desperately for a drink of water, or something to eat that wasn't contaminated by the swarms of flies that bred in the corpses that lay bloated in the hot sun. She can remember watching her men walk to their deaths, and marching alongside them, proud to be fighting for her empire. She remembers being upset that she had to follow orders that would do nothing but kill her men, her warriors. She can remember living in tunnels tug out under the trenches that spanned the front, and the constant knowledge that they were in constant danger, that there were snipers everywhere and nowhere was safe.

It's almost enough to bring bile up her throat.

It's almost enough to make her wish she'd never stepped foot on this peninsular again.

But she can also remember the hope that she felt at the time, a hope buoyed by the patriotism of her citizens at home, over a thousand miles away. The hope that England wouldn't let her rot, that they'd break the stalemate, that they'd win this battle, and the war as well. She can remember the hope she'd felt during the ceasefire and she'd met Turkey for the first time, and he'd offered her a cigarette and told her she was doing well. Those kind words, even from the mouth of the enemy, had been enough to stop her from despairing.

New Zealand opened her eyes and allowed the present to return.

The Turkish coast is dusted with the first rays of light. She climbs out of the trench and continued walking, and as she did so, a tune began to bubble up in her throat.

_"Australians all let us rejoice,  
for we are young and free..."_

A crooked smile graces her lips as she sung her brother's anthem. She'd never do this if Australia was anywhere nearby. Her pride would never allow it (and Aussie would never let her live it down). She stopped and looked out over the sea, over the hills and cliffs and beach that she and so many others had fought for and lost.

_"In joyful strains then let us sing,  
Advance Australia Fair!"_

She let the last note hang in the air; her hand over her heart, over the red poppy already pined there. She faced the sun as she begun to sing again. Her solo sounds eerie even to her own ears; this land has been quiet for a very long time, the spirits of brave soldiers departed.

_"God save our gracious Queen,  
Long live our noble Queen..."_

A song for each soldier who died for their nation on these shores. Tears were beginning to stream down her face, as her mind joined every citizen of hers in the dawn service below. Back at home, the service was already finished. She finished the anthem she shared with England, pausing to wipe her eyes before beginning Turkey's anthem.  
 __  
"Korkma, sönmez bu şafaklarda yüzen al sancak;  
Sönmeden yurdumun üstünde tüten en son ocak,"  
  
Her voice was beginning to hitch now. She didn't know Turkey's anthem as well as she did her brothers, but she did her best. They had fought too: they deserved the recognition as well. Especially after all they had done to honour the ANZAC's and Englishmen who had fallen here. They had beaten them, but they honoured the dead of the losing side. For that, she would always be indebted.  
 __  
"E Ihowā Atua,  
O ngā iwi mātou rā...  
Āta whakarangona;  
Me aroha noa...  
Kia hua ko te pai;  
Kia tau tō atawhai;  
Manaakitia mai  
Aotearoa..."  
  
For ninety-six years and throughout four wars, she had kept a stiff upper lip. She had not allowed herself to cry. She was stronger than that. Her men, her warriors. Now, in the silence of the dawn, in the trenches she had once fought and bleed and died alongside her men, she allowed herself to mourn.

Once the service had finished, and she'd caught up with Turkey and Australia, she knew she would be expected to fly out to meet her boss (he was spending ANZAC day with France), before heading to London to meet England. She wanted this moment, this morning for herself, so that she could spend time with the ghosts and allow their memories to live once more.  
She let the Maori verse die out, pausing before beginning to sing the English one. God defend New Zealand, indeed.  
 __  
"God of Nations at Thy feet  
In the bonds of love we meet...  
Hear our voices we entreat;  
God defend our free land!  
Guard Pacific's triple star;  
From the shafts of strife and war...  
Make her praises heard afar,  
God defend New Zealand!"  
  
She felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked over to see Turkey and Australia standing behind her. Of course these two would know where she was. She had been so focused in her grief that she had not heard them approach. Her brother hugged her, while Turkey simply grabbed her hand, keeping his masked eyes trained on the ocean. In a quiet companionable silence, they listened as the Last Post echoed up from the beach.

"Almost a hundred years, huh, love?" Australia murmured. She hummed in agreement.  
As the last note of the trumpet faded away, quietly, Turkey began to speak. They all knew these words – they had been there when they were first spoken by the General who had led Turkish forces at Gallipoli during those eight months of hell, and had gone on to lead Turkey out of the pits of war.  
 __  
"Those heroes that shed their blood  
And lost their lives.  
You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country.  
Therefore rest in peace.  
There is no difference between the Johnnies  
And the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side  
Here in this country of ours.  
You, the mothers,  
Who sent their sons from far away countries  
Wipe away your tears,  
Your sons are now lying in our bosom  
And are in peace  
After having lost their lives on this land they have  
Become our sons as well."  
  
Australia kissed the crown of her head as her body shook with suppressed sobs. She would not cry in front of these two, she would not. Australia tightened his grip on her. The service was almost finished. One last tradition, one last memory. It was Australia's turn to speak now.  
 __  
"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;  
Age shall not weary them nor the years condemn.  
At the going down of the sun and in the morning  
We will remember them."  
  
. She nodded, sniffing and wiping her eyes. The normally cheerful Turk beside her tightened his grip on her hand.

"We will remember them." She repeated softly.

"We will remember them." Turkey murmured. The dawn was almost here. Yet another year had passed since they had fought upon these cliffs. Now, Turkey, Australia and New Zealand stood together, in peace, to remember them.

The sun was just rising on April the 25th.

On ANZAC day.

"We will remember them."

…

**Author's Note:**

> For those who don't know - ANZAC stands for Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. It was a term coined in WWI, whilst the Gallipoli front in Turkey was active. It's now used to refer to any Australian or Gallipoli in 1915. It's our version of Remembrance Day.


End file.
